


Yours, But More

by idylliclarcenist



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Co-Dependency, Crying, Desperation, Eye Contact, Loneliness, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idylliclarcenist/pseuds/idylliclarcenist
Summary: A glimpse into Credence's feelings and the way Percival seeks to groom them. He's an unwitting victim of careful, expert manipulation, but the most interesting detail is that Graves' own desires aren't the driving force.





	

It appeared predatory, at a first glance. A man as noble as Percival standing firm against the wall, determined not to lean against it, and a black head of hair kneeling down in front of him. His hand framed one of his pale cheeks, thumb rubbing the skin under his jawline encouragingly.

"That's it, Credence," he crooned carelessly into the night air, breath visible, tone rough like the unshaven skin of his face. "That's very good."

 _That's good._ Credence's watering eyes looked up, glassy and desperate, and he tried to meet Percival's gaze through the shadows cast across his face. He could see by a thin strip of a lamp post's lighting that there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as he thrust his cock into Credence's dutifully open mouth, filthy, wet clicks filling the alley.

By the way Credence's pasty, tear-stained cheeks were stroked and dragged by that calloused palm, one might assume he was coaxed into this. A victim of the older man's probable manipulation, considering the way he praised him so lowly, so acutely, and it struck him like a bolt of lightning.

No, though.

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" Percival asked, and Credence's eyes began to slide shut by internal disgust and humiliation. But his jaw was held slack to accommodate each sloppy thrust into his mouth, and he said nothing, managing but a whimper as frigid air rushed in and out of his nostrils.

He pulled back and Credence let out a sob.

Percival captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Haven't you, my boy? My beautiful, perfect pupil. So much potential. So brilliant."

It hurt to hear, like being burned in a spot he'd never been touched. He soaked up the praise, starving for it, eyes staying closed as if it came down in rays. "Yes," he blurted between his own jagged breaths. Percival's fingers slackened on his chin and he smiled knowingly down at him, waiting, studying.

"Please," Credence gasped. "Mother is—"

"Yes. That's right," the eldest interrupted. "She's waiting for you, isn't she? You're late. You've been late, but you came here to see me anyway." He stopped, age-hardened eyes sharpening critically. "You knew that, didn't you? But you came here for what, Credence?"

Credence's hands smoothed up Percival's thighs restlessly and he bit his lower lip until it paled white. He wanted him back, the warm throb of his cock on his tongue.

"For what, Credence?"

Credence fought back his features twisting into a grievous frown. His emotions were stifling, confusing, racing through him and compelling him to grip the fabric of Percival's pants with two tight fists in a rare display of aggression. "For you," he seethed. "To please you, feel you. Please, let me."

His voice had always been a thin, awfully timid sort of sound, groomed by fear, but now it truly trembled; ready to crack, hiding low in his throat like a shaking child. He shook his head, fighting down a heavy lump in his throat when Percival failed to move. "I understand it's much to ask, to— to expect," he forced himself to go on.  
  
"I'll help you, Credence," he assured him neutrally. "I'm just taking you in." Credence's brows knit as he looked up at him, features contorted into the picture of vulnerability, his heart seized in the most painful yet relieving of ways. His gratification was somehow laced with a toxin. He knew he didn't deserve it, and he inhaled shakily.  
  
"Mr. Graves—" He was interrupted with a soft shush from the man above him.

He was a wrinkle away from smiling, nudging his cock back between his swollen lips. Credence took to this like finding water in a desert. He always did, that poor, hideously damaged man, so hopelessly repressed.

Graves' hands gripped the sides of his face, palms cupping the straining tendons of the younger boy's neck, rough and warm and full of purpose. He was so capable, such a strong presence. He was nothing like the fragile, wilting bud whom Credence knew himself to be, but maybe that was why he hungered for him so. He was malnourished. 

Credence bobbed his head eagerly, the deep ache of his deprived lungs gone ignored. Percival's thighs tensed in the way they always did when he was close, and he gripped a fistful of Credence's blunt haircut, pulling his bangs hard and tugging them back to reveal a handsome and youthful face.  
  
He was quite pretty, if nothing else.  
  
Credence opened his mouth wide when Percival gripped his girth with a dirty hand, tugging himself only a few times before warm semen was collecting in the dip of his tongue. He gasped for air as his lips and tongue were coated, perfectly obedient, all too trusting. Percival grunted, hips jolting once.  
  
It was over, then. Credence's erection was strained painfully against his trousers, but he didn't dare touch, focusing solely on the last drops of pleasure Percival worked from himself.  
  
"Good," he sighed a last time, the grip on his black hair slowly going lax. His eyes darted across Credence's ruined appearance, down on his knees with his hair mussed beyond repair and reddened lips smeared with semen. He thought momentarily, and when Credence moved to stand, he stopped him with a foot against his crotch.  
  
Credence sputtered, knees locking.  
  
He rarely granted himself even the grace of his own hand, fearful of his mother's consequential wrath in the event of interruption. He didn't realize he was still crying until the wet skin was stung by an icy breeze that swept through the alley and whipped the thick fabric of Percival's long coat.  
  
"You've done well." Percival said calmly, hands already moving to button up and fix his pants and belt. Credence's hips rocked, bulge grinding up against the bottom of his tidy shoe as he shook his head in confusion. "And the faster you get me what I want, the more of me I'll let you have."  
  
As Credence looked up at him, met the misleadingly warm smile on that rugged face, something in the pit of his stomach dropped. It was stifled by the friction against his clothed cock, but it rang through his blood like a high-pitched bell.  
  
"Soon," Percival emphasized, giving his cheek an affectionate pat. His fingers tucked into his own pocket to retrieve his wand so deftly that his swift disappearance left Credence to land on his palms on the pavement. He gasped, winded, and a frustrated slam of his fist on the concrete served as an outlet for the painful arousal wracking him.  
  
He didn't know whether to yell or cry, so his entire body shook with both extremes. In his own maddening, desperate conflict, he was only distantly aware of the occasional pattern of footsteps passing the alley and continuing on into the night.  
  
An uncontrolled portion of him wanted to scream into the cold, to sink to the pavement and pray for the man to come back and kiss him. He did not.


End file.
